The Librarian
by the.librarian.1
Summary: The Library, a secret collection of resources about the supernatural, is curated and protected by its esteemed Librarians. Sam Winchester finds himself repeatedly colliding with the last living member. She's a brash, intelligent woman with the wits and charm to completely derail his life - or save it, depending on who you ask. (A slow burn from Season One onward, update every Mon)
1. Chapter 1

The middle of nowhere is a very lonely place to be, thought Sam Winchester as he plodded along the stretch of nearly-deserted highway. He had very little concept of where he was, and only knew that he was going vaguely west. He felt the burning need to cover as many miles between himself and California. Putting as many miles between him and Dean was a fortunate side effect of this trek.

Despite his frustration with his older brother, Sam would have preferred to make this trip in the passenger seat of the Impala, listening to classic rock instead of his heavy breathing or the tread of his boots on the ground. Everything would be easier if Dean didn't insist on being a perfect soldier. What good was following dad's directions if dad died because they didn't come to his aid? Stupid, stupid Dean, he thought angrily, and not for the first time. Nor the last, he supposed with an angry exhale.

A distance away, a figure sat on a suitcase. Slender, hunched over, probably a female hitchhiker. Sam reasoned that he could take a break once he reached her. He was starting to swelter under the collar of his heavy shirt and jacket combo, but his exposed hands and face were smarting from the damp chill. Reach the girl, take a break, became Sam's mantra as he put one foot in front of another.

Unknown to Sam, Dean made a phone call after they split. He was angry at his brother, and couldn't talk to their dad. He only had one person to turn to.

After a few rings, a gruff voice picked up the phone. "You're talkin' to Bobby."

"Bobby, hey, it's Dean. I'm in southern Indiana and Sam just decided to split for California. He wants to track down dad."

Dean heard what sounded like a heavy exhale, followed by the clink of a bottle being set down with a little too much force. "Seriously? You idjits couldn't keep it together for more than a few months, huh?"

Dean rolled his eyes but resisted the urge to groan at the chastisement. "Listen, he's on his own, hitchhiking through the middle-of-nowhere and I've got a time-sensitive job to get to. Is there a hunter in the area who could pick him up? Maybe talk some sense into him?"

Bobby was quiet for a moment. "You said southern Indiana? How far south were you when you split?"

Dean squinted. "Yeah. We were going from Indianapolis to Seymour or Scottsburg, one of the smaller towns down here. We split on Highway 11."

"I got someone I can send over to him, if he picks up the phone to let me know exactly where he is. But if he's gonna be too stupid or stubborn, I'm not gonna waste her time."

Dean's ear perked up at that. "A girl? That might be just what he needs right now."

"Not like that. Get'chur head out of the gutter, boy."

"Yes, sir. Well, if you do talk to Sam, tell him to be safe, please."

"I don't know. He might be too much of an idjit to listen to you. Have a good hunt." And with that, Bobby hung up.

Dean tossed his cell into the empty passenger seat and clenched his jaw. Dammit, Sammy, he thought, you better pick up the phone when Bobby calls.

Sam was still a fair bit away from the girl when his phone buzzed. He thought about ignoring it for a second, because chances are it was Dean trying to swing back and make him get back in the Impala. But he was glad he didn't, because the caller ID said "Bobby Singer" and Bobby didn't call for no reason.

He took the call and was only halfway through his "Hey, Bobby" before he was cut off.

"Where is your stupid ass at right now?" Bobby demanded.

"Hello to you too," Sam muttered, then answered, "near mile marker 29 on Highway 11. Why?"

"Find a place to sit yourself down and hang tight. I've got someone coming for you."

Sam sighed. "Bobby, I don't know what Dean told you, but I don't want to go with him. I want to go find Dad out in California. There was a call earlier-"

"I don't give a hoot about what little fight you and your idjit brother got into. You can't get to California by foot, can you?" He paused, and when Sam remained silent, added "I've got a girl coming out to pick you up, give you food and a bed for the night, and show you something that you're gonna wanna see. After you're done there, she can take you to a bus station or airport and you can figure yourself out from there. But you best be nice to her, ya hear?"

"Yessir," Sam replied automatically. "When is she going to be here? What does she look like?"

"She'll get there when she gets there. You just sit tight. Don't go looking for her, it won't help. She'll find you." There was a pause, and then Bobby added, "Sam?"

"Yeah, Bobby?" Sam looked at his shoes, scuffing through the gravel and dirt by the side of the road. Somehow, Bobby's no-nonsense orders made him feel simultaneously like an erroneous child and warm on the inside. Despite his lack of affectionate language, it was nice to know Bobby cared enough to send someone to help.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. I just can't see eye-to-eye with Dean right now."

"You boys will never quite see eye-to-eye. Sometime, you're going to need to learn to get over it and work together. You're brothers, not enemies. And remember that Dean wants to see your dad safe and sound again as much as you do, son."

Sam felt a knot he didn't even know was in his chest loosen. Of course Dean wanted dad to be safe. Sam just didn't think he was going about it the right way. But it wasn't fair for Sam to think he cared more about dad. He just couldn't bring himself to walk away from dad again. "Yeah. Thanks, Bobby."

"Be smart," said Bobby. "You were raised to hunt but you're rusty. Don't do something dumb without Dean to have your back." With that, he ended the call.

Sam closed his cell and shoved it back in his pocket. He cast one look back to where he had come from, and one towards the figure off in the distance. He could still catch up to that girl and sit there and talk. What did another quarter or half mile make to the mysterious girl who'd come pick him up? She'd find him regardless, he was sure.

Sam trodded over to the figure. She didn't look his way or acknowledge him, so he assumed she wasn't paying any attention. When he touched her shoulder, she startled and removed her earbuds. "You scared the hell out of me!" she exclaimed.

She was pretty, with an impish face and blonde pixie cut. They had barely talked when a van showed up and offered her a ride.

"You trust Shady Van Guy and not me?" He asked, half-joking.

"Definitely," she smirked, and the van took off with a roar of noise.

He scoffed and sat himself down. There was as good as any place to wait for Bobby's friend. He entertained himself by looking at the overcast sky and mapping out his next steps to finding dad.

An hour later, a car zipped by him. He noticed the vehicle- a sleek silver Mercedes- but didn't get a good look at the drivers face. It abruptly stopped after it passed him, then backed up to where he was sitting. The window rolled down, and a girl leaned over the passenger seat. "Sam Winchester?"

He looked up, startled. He had been expecting a hunter, clad in denim and flannel. That was the only kind of person he thought Bobby knew. He wasn't expecting a round-faced woman with a red slash of a mouth, a sleek, short haircut, and a black and white polka-dot dress. She raised her sunglasses and lifted one eyebrow at his silent surprise. "I haven't seen any other tall, flannel-clad hunter-looking types so you must be Sam, no?"

"No," he said, then hastily amended, "I mean, yes, yes, I'm Sam. Sorry."

"Then throw your stuff in the trunk and jump in." She popped the trunk and watched him carefully as he pulled himself off the ground and walked to the back of her car.

He was throwing his bags in and about to shut the trunk when he realized that he couldn't remember what she looked like. Was her hair dark? Blonde? Was she pale, tan, green-eyed, brown-eyed? His mind couldn't focus on the details. He frowned and shut the trunk. She was watching him from the rear-view mirror. Her hair was medium brown, her eyes darker brown, her skin very fair. He shook his head and walked around to the passenger side. Before he got in, he was struck by the same forgetfulness. Was her face round, sharp, wide, slim? What color was her lipstick, again?

He got in and nodded at her awkwardly. She put the car in drive again and sped off towards the west.

Fifteen minutes later, he couldn't stop staring at her. He was trying to memorize her face – her slightly too-large nose, with the round bump on the end, or the slant of her eyes under her sunglasses, or the three freckles on her cheekbone. Every time he looked out the window, though, the details were gone. The best he had managed to remember was that she had a round face and brown hair. He was starting to worry that he had gotten into a vehicle with something that he should be hunting.

When he looked back again, for the umpteenth time, she cracked. A corner of her red mouth twitched, then widened into a full grin. "Having trouble wrapping your brain around it?" She said, with a laugh in her voice.

"Yeah, just a bit," he replied. "What are you?"

"Excuse you, I'm a who," she responded archly, throwing him an unimpressed glance. "My name is Renee, not that you asked. It's magic that's making it hard to remember details. Most people don't notice – they chalk it up to normal forgetfulness. But hunters stake their lives on noticing details, so they usually pick it up."

"What magic?" Sam asked, impressed and nervous at the same time. "Are you a witch?"

"Nah," Renee replied. "I'll explain it later, all you need to know is that it'll be easier to remember me with more exposure. Try not to lose me in a crowd over the next day or so and you'll be fine."

"Day or so?" Sam nearly exploded. "I can't wait a day. I need to get to the nearest bus station and catch a ride to California."

"Nope," she popped the p for emphasis. "Bobby says you need sleep, food, and a trip to the Library."

"A trip to a library isn't going to help me find my dad," Sam insisted. "Sleep, food, fine, but I'd like to leave first thing in the morning, not spend all day hanging around and wasting time."

"Too bad," she trilled. "You're stuck with me. Plus, it's not _a_ library, it's the Library. Bobby said you were a big nerd. Trust me, you'll love it. Or if you don't trust me, trust Bobby. He knows what he's doing."

Sam fell back into the passenger seat heavily. Chances are, she was driving them somewhere more densely populated. He could just leave in the morning and find his own way from there. Far away from this strange girl with her magical amnesia and library.

Then again, the library was one of the things he missed most from Stanford.

But dad needed him more than he needed a trip to the library.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

When we left, Sam had met a stranger

He worried he was in some danger

She delighted in his confusion

Over her amnesia illusion

What comes next is a real game-changer

* * *

In the hour and some drive, Sam slowly grew more comfortable in the car. Renee had offered him control of the radio. He told her anything but classic rock was fine. She turned on some NPR-esque classical station that filled the car with the soothing sounds of a Philharmonic orchestra. He watched the trees and intermittent cornfields and let the music relax him.

She slapped her hands on the steering wheel, causing Sam to jolt from his reverie. "Where are my manners! Would you like a drink? There's a little cooler in the back with water and snacks," she offered kindly. Sam craned his neck back and sure enough, there was a small red cooler that had clearly seen better days. Finagling his body to reach back and grab it- he felt like a clumsy giant in this little sedan- he nabbed a cold water and started to chug it. He hadn't realized just how parched he had been.

Sam was at a loss on where to begin the conversation. She clearly was waiting to discuss her library, and he didn't know anything about her with which to start a more casual discussion. Well, he amended, he did know _one_ thing about her.

He then cleared his throat and started with "How do you know Bobby?"

She glanced over at him and coyly looked up from under her lashes. "I'm his daughter. Can't you see the family resemblance?"

He had apparently chosen the wrong moment to take a drink, because he found himself choking and sputtering - to her obvious amusement. When he finally got a hold of himself, he croaked "His - his daughter?"

She snorted, inelegantly and unexpectedly. "No. Obviously not. Bobby was an old friend to my… my mentor," she hesitated, clearly amending whatever she was going to say. "You can say I inherited his friendship."

"How did your mentor meet Bobby?"

"Oh," she flapped her hand. "Their paths crossed when they both tried to steal a book on witchcraft from an auction. It was eighteenth century, the real deal, full of rituals and spells to ward against demons and so forth. They had a little tiff over it until Grant - my mentor - explained what he was doing with the book. Bobby let him have it in exchange for an in, and the rest is history."

Somehow, Sam could see Bobby breaking into an auction house to take a book on repelling demons. He _couldn't _see Bobby willingly parting with such a valuable tool. "Where is the book now? In the library you mentioned?" She hummed in a way that told him _yes, but no more questions about that_. "If Bobby and Grant were friends, why are you picking me up?"

At this, her secretive smile fell from her face and she glued her eyes back on the road. She curled her ink-stained fingers tight around the steering wheel for a tense moment, and Sam watched her knuckles turn white before she released. It was still a long, quiet moment before she finally answered. "He was in an accident. There was a poltergeist on campus, and he didn't think it was necessary to call a hunter or even bring backup. He got thrown down a few flights of stairs and broke his neck. He's in a coma now."

"I'm sorry," Sam replied, shocked. He wasn't expecting that answer.

Renee waved off his apology with airy indifference, but the conversation dried up after that.

Finally, the cornfields and emptiness gave away to suburbs, which then gave way to smaller houses, smaller yards, and eventually apartment buildings. She pulled into a parking lot in a downtown-looking city block and parked.

"Okay!" She said with forced enthusiasm. "There's a ton within walking distance. We can do Indian, Mongolian, Thai, Greek, Tex-Mex, sandwiches, soup, upscale, pub grub, or vegan." She was ticking off the options on her hands, which drew his attention back to their ink stains and lack of polish. _Very messy hands for such a neat girl_, Sam thought.

He made a face at the last one, which brought out a laugh from Renee. "Not vegan, then. Anyways, it's my treat, so you just pick it."

His mouth watered at the thought of gyros dripping in fat and tzatziki sauce. "Greek, definitely."

She hummed in agreement and led him to an establishment on the corner of the city square. He carefully kept an eye on her, worried that he'd lose her in the busy street. She danced between strangers who appeared not to notice her with practiced ease. They reached a large wooden door with an exaggeratedly large chain across the front in lieu of a door handle. He reached around her to open the door, brushing her shoulder with his chest. She thanked him, but her cheeks flushed as she turned away. He filed that piece of information away in the back of his head before being distracted by the heady blend of roasting meat, spices, and naan in the air. Sam breathed in deeply. Dean was not an adventurous eater, and foreign foods- outside of deep-fried Tex-Mex- were few and far between. The smell of grease in the air of dive bars got old after a while. This place was like olfactory nirvana.

Renee walked confidently towards the back, then up some steps to a bar area. The server's eyes skimmed right over her but saw him. One blonde girl gave him a flirtatious smile, seemingly unaware that he was following another woman. Disoriented, he almost walked into Renee as she stopped and slid into a booth.

"You'll have to flag the waiters," she told him conversationally. "I can get people to notice me, but they'll turn around and forget who to give my order to. I don't eat out a lot, so I'm happy to have you here."

Sam didn't know what to say to that. "I'm sorry?"

She shrugged, as if to say _what can you do?_, and pulled a menu from the holder on the table. "Do you mind splitting an appetizer with me? I haven't had saganaki or spanakopita in an age. It doesn't keep well with delivery. Mmmmm, I'd kill for some baklava too." She looked him in the eyes and added, deadpan, "you'll have to get your own baklava. I don't share."

He grinned. "My brother says the same about his pie." Then his throat tightened. Fighting with Dean had never been easy, not even after hardly speaking for years.

Her deadpan expression broke and she grinned broadly. "Weirdly enough, my brother is the same. Siblings are the worst, huh?" She winked at him as she returned to the menu.

The waiter came around and took their drink orders while Sam mused over his dinner companion. He sat in silence until their drinks were delivered, then gave the waiter their appetizer order at Renee's prompting.

As soon as the waiter left, she began to play what felt like the strangest round of twenty questions Sam had ever been subjected to. How did your family get into hunting? How long have you known Bobby? Where did you go to school? Ooooo, Stanford, what's _that_ like? She was relentlessly cheerful and chatty until the appetizer came around. She waited until the waiter lit the saganaki with a flourish and an "Opa!" and left, and then cleared her throat and asked about his brother. "I know you two had a disagreement, but what on earth could possess him to leave you by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere?" Clearly, it was a question meant in jest, but Sam felt his hackles rise all the same.

"He didn't leave me. I left him. I wanted to go find my dad. Still want to go," he added sullenly. Suddenly, the story poured out of him like a dam unleashed. About his brother coming back into his life. "Dad's on a hunting trip." Jess. The journal. Tracking the thing that killed his mom.

Renee cocked her left eyebrow at him over a bite of gooey cheese. "So, you thought that walking in the middle of nowhere was the fastest way to get to your dad?" Her blunt assessment of the situation stung. She clearly didn't think highly of his brash decision.

"Faster than sticking with my brother. He was moving in any direction except towards dad. I need to get to California as fast as possible. I know that dad needs my help. Definitely needs me a hell of a lot more than Dean does."

She stopped eating and studied him closely. He took another bite of the flaky spanakopita and avoided her level gaze. "Do you actually believe that a man who has avoided you at every turn, actually told you to stay away from him and leave him alone, needs you more than your _brother_? The brother who was there when your girlfriend died and has stuck it out with you through every scary thing that goes bump in the night?" The pitch of her voice raised in disbelief. "You must be kidding. No wonder Bobby said you're an idjit."

The following awkward silence permeated the appetizer - which was delicious - and the meal - equally delicious - and through scraping the leftover gyros into to-go containers and finishing off their drinks. She smiled at him warmly when he offered her a hand out of the booth, though, which thawed the coolness between them. He made sure to open the door for her, which seemed to please her enormously. They walked back out to her car. Sam once again noted with amazement how smoothly Renee moved around people who were paying very little attention to her presence. It was at odds with how people parted around his large stature. He had never felt more conspicuous, from his long hair to his broad shoulders to his flannel, as when he moved next to someone that nobody seemed to notice.

When they got out to the car, Renee flashed him a brilliant smile. "Are you ready to see the Library? I was going to make you wait until tomorrow but you're clearly impatient. I'm limiting you to an hour tonight, though, and then we're going out for a drink or three and I'll explain everything to you."

Sam wasn't sure what the appropriate response was. Moderate anticipation? Over-the-top excitement? His hesitance didn't dampen her joy. She turned on a pop station and was mouthing the words as she sped off through town.

* * *

Renee drove around a large, limestone building that proclaimed itself to be the "Herman B Wells Library." It was surrounded by pretty trees and meandering co-eds and made Sam nostalgic for Stanford. Leaving college was necessary at the time, but the further he was away, the less likely it seemed that he would ever return.

There was a small parking lot in the back of the building. Sam expected them to go up the wide stairs to the back entrance, but Renee chose a nondescript door at the ground level that he almost hadn't seen. He passed by students studying, chatting, laughing without a care in the world. His heart panged. He was too distracted to notice Renee stop at the elevators and bumped into her while watching a girl with hair the same shade of blonde as Jess. She caught his gaze at the Jess almost-lookalike and just raised one eyebrow. He was starting to get tired of watching that eyebrow arch at him in disappointment. It was the worst combination of mother figure and schoolmarm.

The elevator was nondescript. They were on the lowest level. He expected her to press one of the buttons to go up, but instead she slid back hidden panel and stuck her index finger inside the hole that it revealed. When she withdrew the digit, a small dot of blood was welling up on the tip. The panel moved back and blended into the metal seamlessly, and the elevator began to move smoothly downward. Absentmindedly, she nursed her injured finger by sucking it into her mouth. He watched her finger disappear between her red lips and felt a stirring of something he hadn't felt since Jess died. She noticed his gaze and popped her finger out with a blush.

"Sorry, I never get used to getting stabbed in the finger to get into the Library."

"Does the Library let anyone in if they-" he gestured towards the panel, which had slid back and was hidden again "-give blood? Or just you?"

"It lets in all Librarians, and anyone keyed into the blood wards. Not many people are keyed in. Only people who can be absolutely trusted. There's a pretty wide network of people who know about the Library and can call upon the Librarians for help, though. We call them Patrons. I'm going to add you to that network, if you agree to the… _terms and conditions_, so to speak. But tour first, blood oaths later." She winked at him at the elevator ground to a halt. The doors opened with a generic, pleasant ding, and they stepped out into a vestibule. The walls were nondescript beige, and the carpet was a nondescript gray. There was a coat rack that she hung her no-nonsense black purse on. The other wall had a dark wood door with a symbol carved into the front.

"Okay, before we go in, there's a preliminary promise you have to make. I'll show you around, but you have to agree that after we're done, you'll either sign a confidentiality agreement or losing your memories of the Library the next time you fall asleep." She said this pleasantly and blandly, like discussing the weather or what they had for dinner.

"You're going to erase my memories?" Sam briefly panicked. Renee held up a hand against his protests.

"No, no, no. I mean, maybe. The Library needs to be protected at all costs. I just need to know that you'll keep this to yourself, or you can't be allowed to remember it. The confidentiality agreement is binding, but it won't harm you. It just doesn't allow you to discuss the Library with anyone who doesn't already know about the Library. You could talk about it with Bobby, but not with Dean or your dad. I just need a promise that you'll choose one or the other at the end of your tour."

Sam felt his mouth go dry. While her request wasn't unreasonable, per say, he felt uncomfortable with the idea of his memories not being his own. But her large brown eyes were looking up at him expectantly, so he cleared his throat and agreed. She smiled luminously at his agreement. "Lovely! So, when you step through this door, it might feel a little funny. It's just the protective wards, and it's just this first time you go in. You won't feel it on future visits. Promise." She laid her hand on the door. The symbol glowed briefly under her touch, and then swung open on its own.

"Sam Winchester, welcome to the Library."

He walked forward, noting the light brush of magic against his brain. It made him itch, briefly, in some strange way that was both physical and mental, before falling to the back of his mind. Once he adjusted, he was shocked by what he found.

There were soft lamps everywhere, giving the room a peaceful and welcoming glow. A large table was piled with books in front of him, surrounded by soft, chintzy seats that beckoned him. Further in, though, were the stacks. As far back as his eyes could see – shelves and shelves and shelves of books just begging to be touched. "What is all of this?" He breathed.

"The largest collection on the supernatural, the occult, and the spiritual ever to be gathered in one place," Renee responded proudly. "An enormous wealth of written information. It's updated regularly," she added, when it was clear he was too awed to respond. "Plus, I started a section with information from the internet. I've also started digitizing the collection, trying to make it accessible to all Patrons everywhere. But for now, if you've got a supernatural problem, you could call me, and I could feed you research."

"How do you find anything in here?" It was an enormous space. Sam couldn't imagine trying to read everything here, much less memorize it or organize it.

"Magic," she laughed. "I just ask the Library to give me the books, and it sends them along. Do you want to see?"

"Yes," he breathed. "Very much so."

She directed him to sit in one of the nearer seats – a dark green one, with gold braiding details – and asked him what he'd like to have information on. "Hauntings," he picked off the top of his head, thinking of their recent excursion to the Roosevelt Asylum.

She slanted her eyes at him. "If I asked for every ghost haunting book here, we'd be buried in a New York minute. Try narrowing it down by a certain place, or type of ghost, or time period – anything."

"Well, my brother and I were just at Roosevelt Asylum. Is that specific enough?"

She nodded and turned to the table. Among all the other books stacked haphazardly, she carefully withdrew a wine-red notebook and a bedraggled plume of a feather – no, a quill. Without ink, she scratched some letters into the notebook. He sat up, trying to see what she had written. She tilted the notebook towards him, and he saw "Roosevelt Asylum" in neat cursive across one page. They waited for a short moment, and then a book floated out from a nearby shelf and landed neatly on the opposite end of the table. A few beats later, another one floated from a further shelf, and arranged itself atop the first. Sam watched, open-mouthed, as the books continued to slowly pile up from different sections of the Library. They ranged in old, moldy volumes to glossy, newer books. Eventually, it seemed the Library had given up everything, and Renee crossed to the stack.

"Famous Hauntings in American Mental Health Facilities," she read to Sam. "I don't know where in this book you'll see Roosevelt Asylum, but it's in there somewhere."

"I don't doubt you," he responded honestly. "This is fantastic. Who did all of this?"

She checked her wristwatch, a slender silver thing that he hadn't noticed. "I can answer your questions now, or you can go explore for another forty minutes and I'll answer your questions over a drink. Your choice," she looked at him expectantly, giving him the feeling that she hadn't really given him a choice at all.

"Yeah, sure, I'd love to look around," he agreed amiably. She clapped her hands together.

"Fantastic! I just have some quick research to finish up and then I'll get all of this-" she gestured towards the mess on the table "-cleaned off. Also, there are doors all around the room. Please don't enter any of them yet. Some of them are a little finicky and I'd hate to have to tell Bobby you were killed in an accidental explosion or the like."

Sam's eyes widened at the possibility of explosives in the room. "Is it safe?"

"In the Library proper, yes, of course. None of these books bite, and the really dangerous ones are locked in neutralizing boxes to prevent causing any more harm." She said casually, already turning to her research. "Just stay in the main space, don't get lost, and don't get curious. Curiosity did, after all, kill the cat."

"Satisfaction brought it back." Sam responded automatically, without thinking. She slowly turned back to him and raised one of those damnable eyebrows at him. This time, however, it seemed to be in appraisal. Her eyes were dark and twinkling with mischief as she raked them up and down, from his scruffy hair to his solid boots. He watched the corners of that red mouth twitch when they reached his face again, which felt like it was on fire.

"Sam, Sam, Sam. Libraries are here for research, not satisfaction." Caught wrongfooted, he could barely stutter that that was certainly _not_ what he meant before she dismissed him by turning back to her work and shutting him out. As he started to walk away, though, he thought he saw her face blazing crimson and wasn't that just interesting?

As he walked through the aisles, his mind jumped between the titles of the books and the many contradictions of Renee.

She was pleased when he used his manners and flustered when he got physically close but seemed to enjoy wrong-footing him and teasing him when the opportunity arose.

_Pagan Magyck of the Scottish Highlands. Famous Ghouls of the Eighteenth Century._

She was talkative when the mood struck her but seemed prone to long silences as well.

_Turn of the Moon: Diary of a Werewolf. Renegade Hunters and How They Died._

She had a laundry list of secrets that he seemed to have barely scratched the surface of, but she also chatted with him like an old friend.

_Salt of the Earth: Defenses Against Ghosts. Hand-to-hand Combat with Vampires._

The further he wandered from her, the more trouble he had remembering the details of her appearance again. Were her eyes hazel? Blue? How tall was she? But he had no problem remembering that red, red mouth. Her teeth worrying the bottom lip during an awkward pause in conversation. Her finger sliding in, her mouth pursing as she sucked on it. The faint red ring she left on her straw at the restaurant. The wide smiles she had given him during their few hours of acquaintance.

He felt that stirring again, the one he hadn't felt since Jess died, and almost groaned aloud. _Stop it, Sam,_ he thought to himself. _You're only here because she's doing Bobby a favor. Don't make a fool of yourself. Think of Jessica. Think of getting back to Dad. Think of anything except that mouth._

* * *

**A/N: As promised, new chapter is up on Monday! Just a quick note on pacing: Sam and Renee meeting is going to be a several-chapter-long affair. Things will pick up after. The pacing of this story will be weird in the beginning, as they're living their separate lives and doing their own thing. Plus, it's a suuuper slow burn. We've got sooooo many seasons of material to work through. It gets better, promise. If you like the story so far (or don't, and have constructive advice), please review. I will do my best to answer everybody. Cheers, lovelies! -The Librarian**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sam's comfy and full of good food

Given books so that he will not brood

He still has some queries

For the many mysteries

A good distraction from brotherly feud

* * *

_Sam_

Sam wandered the dark, cozy aisles. The lack of natural light and the dark wood bookcases were offset by the warm glow of the lamps, casting shadows into cozy alcoves. The further into the Library he wandered, the more the aisles twisted and winded and narrowed. He wasn't sure how far he had gone, nor how much more there was to the place. It was labyrinthian in both size and shape. The number of seats and reading desks throughout the Library suggested that there were supposed to be many, many more Librarians wandering the halls than Renee's singular form. He wondered if she had always been alone here.

Every few minutes, he pulled an interesting title and flipped through the book. Some books were very old and smelled of mildew and dust. Others were much better preserved, or newer. There were fascinating rituals in one book about warding magic, and he wondered if they were protecting the Library. There was an alcove with lots of titles involving angels and divine interventions, which made him scoff. There was an aisle with books on poisons, both magic and not, and the top shelves were cluttered with glass bottles that he could only guess contained the same as the books. The further he walked in, the more things he saw that he wanted to read. He could lose himself for hours – weeks – years in the Library and still only scratch the surface of what it had to offer.

He was perusing a book on Appalachian Myths and how they had shared similarities with the original Germanic, Scottish, and Irish mythologies when Renee found him. He almost didn't hear her coming, as her bare feet were muffled by the thick rugs throughout the aisles. He watched her saunter up to the aisle. She was clearly more at ease here than she had been in the restaurant or walking the busy city street, dancing between strangers who barely noticed her. He hadn't noticed the tension in her squared shoulders until they were relaxed, nor the briskness of her stride until seeing her move towards him languidly. She wasn't looking at him, but rather running her fingers along the spines and inspecting them all as she passed. She walked like a dancer, with her toes first. Vividly purple, sparkly toenails. Interesting.

His eyes moved up her calves – muscular – to her hips – curvy – up her arms to her clavicle and to her face. She was still focused on the spines and completely disregarding his assessment, but when her eyes finally moved to him, she smiled knowingly. He was glad he didn't openly leer like Dean would.

"I'm sure you have lots of questions about that library. Thank you for giving me a moment to wrap up my research. There's a hunter going after an old pagan god and you know how specific god-killing needs to be. Stake made of wood from a certain tree blessed by a certain religious leader dipped in a certain animal's blood. All very tiring, if you ask me. Not that anybody does," she chuckled and shot him a wink.

"Is that most of what you do here? Research for hunters?"

"Oh, goodness no. I mean, I do research for a fair few hunters, but really only for the more specialized cases. Everyone knows to behead vampires and use silver bullets for werewolves. But gods? Demons? Witches? There are as many of those under the sun as you can imagine. Not that you didn't know that, of course." It didn't escape his notice that she deftly sidestepped the question. She must have noticed that he noticed because she grinned like they were sharing an old joke. "Sorry. Force of habit. I'm used to not being able to talk about my job, or only give half-answers. I promise I'll tell you more over a drink."

"You already took me out to dinner," he protested lightly, "you don't need to ply me with alcohol as well."

She laughed at that. "Oh, Sam Winchester, how else will I ensure that you'll come back to visit me?"

He gestured at the tall stacks around them. "I mean, I'll definitely be coming back for this."

Her smile faltered at that, although he didn't know why. But she quickly plastered a grin back on her face and motioned him to follow her back. He followed her polka-dot dress back to the front of the library, where she slid her shoes back on. She then waved her hands over all the books stacked on the table. He watched in amazement as they snapped close and then floated serenely into the aisles, presumably to their respective homes in the Library. When he turned back, she was watching his reaction from the corner of her eye. Seemingly pleased at his awestruck expression, she led him out of the Library and locked it shut.

"So. As I explained, the Library demands secrecy and protection above all else. I'm going to need you to take an oath. It's really not a big deal, like I explained, it just physically prevents you from discussing the Library or its Librarians or Patrons with outsiders. Otherwise, you'll lose your memories the next time you fall asleep. You'll wake up with about-" she checked her watch "-an hour of your memory missing from today. You might not even notice that it's gone. But that's why I couldn't discuss the Library with you before; anything more than a mention of the Library would have triggered the spell to take a larger chunk of your memory."

When this was laid out neatly for Sam, the logic made sense, but the reasoning confused him. "Are there people who opt to forget the Library? This place is incredible. I can't imagine choosing to lose this memory." He cast a longing look at the dark wooden door, as if itching to go back in and continue perusing.

"I've never met anyone who's wanted to forget. But the defenses are terribly important. We're not just trying to collect information to help hunters. We're also keeping information out of the hands of dangerous people and creatures. Can you imagine what an evil witch could do with half of the grimoires we keep locked away here? Or how much damage a demon could wreak on angels if they knew their secrets?"

"Angels aren't real," Sam replied automatically.

Renee shrugged elegantly. "Agree to disagree. But that's besides the point. My highest duty is to protect this place. So I just need a verbal oath for the magic to take hold, okay?"

"Alright," he agreed hastily. "What do I need to say?"

"I, Sam Winchester, submit myself to the wards and spells protecting the Library." She recited, and then nodded at him.

"That's it?"

"Yep. You don't need to promise not to do or say anything – the magic takes care of it for you. You just need to agree to submit to it."

Even though the idea of submitting to magic that would bind his words and actions made his skin crawl, Sam complied. He knew he didn't want to forget, didn't want to close the metaphorical and literal door on returning to this place.

When he finished, she beamed at him. "Perfect. Lovely. Now I can spill all the fun secrets. Over a beer." And with that, she led him out of the vestibule, back into the elevator, and out of the larger library. The sun was beginning to set outside, and the colors of it blazed in his eyes after an hour in the dim Library. Once he adjusted, though, the world felt lighter. More peaceful. He realized that, for the first time in weeks, he had gone a full hour without worrying about dad, Dean, hunting, or anything else. It was like when he moved away to Stanford. He had forgotten how sweet the escape could be.

* * *

Renee drove them to a seedy little bar not far from the campus. Sam was surprised by the size – tiny – and the shape – rundown. He was more surprised when the bartender smiled at Renee, even coming out from behind the little bar to engulf her in a bear hug.

"Hey, sweetie!" She exclaimed over the moderately loud din of music. Something Billy Joel, like that wasn't a cliché for a small bar. "Please tell me you have that cider I love on tap."

"You got it, babe," the man replied, then turned his twinkling blue eyes on Sam. The kindness quickly went from his gaze. "Are you with him?"

Sam felt his face heat up as Renee grabbed his arm and dragged him closer. "Austin, love, this is Sam. Sam's looking at the library science masters program at the university. I'm showing him around and such. Sam, Austin's one of my best friends since undergrad. He knows all of my embarrassing undergrad stories so we're going to avoid him tonight!" She said gaily. Austin seemed to relax at her explanation and looked at Sam with less hostility.

"Lady wants a cider, lady gets a cider. What can I get you, my man?"

Sam squinted at the board, which had been haphazardly written on, erased, written over, all in a eight-year-old's scrawl. Renee watched him flounder with some amusement in her eyes before asking for a lager on tap. She swiftly pecked the cheek of the bartender before sending him on his way – "and don't forget the peanuts!" – before pushing him over to a table right outside, away from the gaze of the bartender. She soon followed with two glasses of drink and a bowl of peanuts.

"Sorry it's so cold, but outside is the only way we're going to get some privacy. These are to die for, by the way. So good with a drink." She motioned towards the peanuts. "So, go ahead. Ask any questions. I'm an open book."

Sam tried to assemble his thoughts to ask questions about the Library, but the first thing he could think of was "What was that guy's problem?"

Renee inhaled deeply and set her drink down. "So you noticed that, huh?" She asked wryly. "Yeah, Austin's an old friend. That's why he could really see me, notice me. The spells that make me anonymous don't work on people who knew you before. It would be weird if my family woke up and couldn't remember my face, you know?"

"That didn't answer my question."

She flapped a hand at him impatiently. "Hold your horses, I was getting there. Austin's an old friend. He knew me when I was dating my fiancée. And he knew me when my fiancée became my late fiancée. So, he's a little overprotective. He worries that I'm by myself too much, and then he worries that I'm seeing somebody, and then he worries that I'm breathing and walking at the same time because apparently, I'm incapable and delicate. It's frustrating. Best to just ignore it."

The bombshell that she had a late fiancée settled between them. She was steadily looking out at the trickle of people walking past them on the sidewalk, clearly not wanting to witness his reaction. Her face was pink. Embarrassment? Shame?

"I was going to propose to my girlfriend Jess. Before she died." Sam wasn't sure what compelled him to share that information, but it felt right. Her eyes flicked over to his, and they shared a moment of mutual misery and grief.

"I'm sorry about your Jess. I'm sorry that she was killed by whatever killed your mom." Renee paused, then took another drink. "His name was Zach. Bobby and Rufus were hunting a pack of vampires across the state. The vamps were getting desperate, knew hunters were getting close. And they were hungry. So they grabbed a teacher getting out of his car on the way to school. Bobby and Rufus got them shortly soon after." She cleared her throat in a way that made him wonder if there was more to the story, but he didn't press. "That's actually when I first met Bobby. He was coming to warn Grant to put up extra protections around himself. He was the only Librarian at the time and it would've been real bad if something happened to him."

They marinated in the silence between them for several long moments. Sam felt the keen absence of Jess. It was growing less painful as the days passed into weeks, but in some moments the grief rose up inside of him like a tide, drowning out everything else. There wasn't room for anger, or bitterness, or hatred when his heart was beating out a tattoo of her name. Jess. Jess. Jess. Sam suddenly felt disgusted with himself for thinking about Renee in a physical way earlier. Jess deserved better. She deserved his laser focus on finding her killer.

"You must have more questions about the library." Renee suddenly broke the silence. "I can't guarantee I have all the answers, but you can pick my brain about anything."

Sam sat in pensive silence for a moment. "What's with all the magic? I mean, are you a magic-user? Or was your mentor?"

Renee perked up. "Great question! And as good of a place as any to start. The Library has been floating around for a few hundred years. Pretty much since Harvard was founded. As long as there has been academics in America, there's been a collection of supernatural lore being accumulated. It's moved around the country a fair bit, sometimes because a person has moved and sometimes because of world events. Between World War One and World War Two, the head Librarian and all of his assistant Librarians – that's me, by the way, an assistant Librarian – decided that the Library should be hidden somewhere inconspicuous enough to be safe but large enough to hide in. Hence," she waved her hand around in the air, as if to indicate the entire city, "it settled here. World War Two and the Cold War only solidified their decision. Since then, it's been able to grow from a relatively small and mobile Library to the largest accumulation of supernatural that anybody has ever heard of." She smiled at him, inordinately pleased with her little history lesson.

"And the magic?" Sam reminded her with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes at herself. "Oh, duh, yeah. So the magic happened about a hundred and fifty years ago. There was a witch who was in more than just a little spot of trouble with the Grand Coven. The Librarian at the time helped her in exchange for as much magical protection as she could muster being placed on the Library. She has to come back every ten or twenty years to fix up the protections and add any more deemed necessary. There's the wards on the physical location, which you saw a bit of." He recalled the glowing symbol on the door to the Library and nodded at her.

"And there's some interesting enchantments on the head Librarian and the assistant Librarians. You know that I'm hard to notice and easy to forget, for instance. That makes it easy for me to move around. Part of my job is to go hunting for new additions to the Library. Every time an estate sale or auction comes up with likely material, I go and try to get my hands on the good stuff. By hook or by crook," she grins broadly. "I mean, if I can get it on a bid or buy, sure, great. But I've learned a thing or two about breaking and entering. The head Librarian is the opposite. He's got some sort of charisma or compulsion charm working on him. You can help but notice and be awed by him. He's supposed to be good about talking people into what he wants."

"Were you awed by him?" Sam asks. He imagines a doe-eyed version of the sleek woman sitting in front of him, mooning over an older man. Or perhaps a teacher's pet, always trying to get the right answer, always try to impress.

She grinned affably, unaware of his inner teasing. "Of course. How could I not be? Even setting aside the charisma thing, he was an eminent scholar in the field of archival work and preservation. And he rarely took on advising graduate students. He told me later that he talked his way out of that particular duty every school year. But he chose me. He wasn't sure I was Library material, was doubting it all through my first year of grad school. 'Academic competence does not a good Librarian make,'" she added in a pompous, deep voice, apparently trying to imitate her mentor. "Grant was – is," she corrected, "a good man. And to those closest to him, a very kind one. But he dealt with the charisma enchantment by keeping everyone else an arm's length away. He didn't like fawning undergrads, nor overzealous grad students, nor most of his own coworkers in the department."

"Why did he like you?"

"Because I was engaged and didn't look at him twice. I was in awe of his as a mentor and a superior, but I had no interest in him in _that_ way." Her raised eyebrows left no doubt what _that_ way meant. "I have a romantic aversion to older men. I like them spry." She winked at him, leaving no doubt on what _spry_ meant, either. Sam felt himself blush. He knew she was doing that on purpose, and if he hadn't seen her interact with her bartender friend, he might think that she was flirting. But he was starting to get the inkling that sarcasm and cheekiness were a normal part of her personality. He drained his drink to hide his blush and she offered to run inside and grab a second. He was starting to break into the peanuts, which were unexpectedly spicy and, indeed, very good, when a blonde head caught his eye.

"Hey!" He called out. He was almost certain that it was the blonde girl from the side of the road, the one that ditched him.

She turned and, when her eyes found him, lit up. "Hey, you again!" She leaned against the railing separating the tables from the sidewalk, surveying him carefully.

"What happened to your ride?"

She sighed a little. "You were right. That guy _was _shady. He was all hands." She waved her hands a little for emphasis. After a beat, she added, "I cut him loose."

Sam grinned at her. A few hours off his feet and a good meal made him more affable to her tough-girl brand of sarcasm. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Meg. So how did you get up here?"

"A friend of a friend came to pick me up. She's in there now," he glanced through the large windows of the bar, and saw Renee leaning against the counter and chatting with her friend.

Meg's eyes followed his but didn't quite land on Renee. She looked back at Sam. "So is this where you were trying to go when you were hitchhiking out in the middle of nowhere?"

"No, just a quick stop. I'm trying to get to California."

"No way!" She exclaimed. "Me too. The next bus out of this place isn't until tomorrow, though."

Sam deflated a little at that. He thought that he would probably be here longer than he wanted to, but it was still disappointing to hear. "Well, that's a problem."

"Why? What's in Cali that's so important?"

"Just something I've been looking for for a long time."

"Well, then I'm sure it can wait one more day, right? Why don't I grab a drink and we can discuss what's so important, yeah?"

"Sure," Sam replied. "But watch out for that bartender, he's not too friendly."

Meg laughed. "They're all friendly with me, Sam."

Meg started to walk in to the bar at the same time that Renee was coming out with another beer and cider. Renee put down the drinks and, without batting an eye, said in a low, even voice, "we have to leave."

"What? No. Meg just went in to get a drink and join us."

That made her blink, and her eyes widened at him in shock. "You _know_ her? Wait, no, not important right now. We're going. Now." Her tone brooked no arguments. "If you don't get up and come with me now, I'm leaving you here. Seriously. Let's go."

Confused and more than a little peeved at the authoritative tone she was taking, Sam considered refusing. He'd be just fine if she left. Except his stuff was in her vehicle, he had no idea where she lived, and he wouldn't be able to pick her out of a crowd if he didn't see her for a few minutes. He clenched his jaw and stood. Renee grabbed his hand and bodily dragged him to her vehicle, leaving their drinks and peanuts on the table without a second look.

"What the hell was that about?" Sam demanded as soon as she locked the car and slammed on the accelerator.

Renee either wasn't paying attention or was choosing to ignore him as she sped along the city streets. She blasted through several intersections and blew through a risky yellow light before they were caught by a red. Her lips were moving, as if she was talking to herself or praying. Her fingers were clenched at ten and two on the steering wheel, bone white. Sam realized her face was rather pale as well, although it was hard to tell with her fair skin.

"Hey. Earth to Renee. What is going on?"

Hearing her name broke the spell. She looked at him with wide, doe-like eyes. "Who was that?"

Sam almost snapped 'who was what?' but realized what she was asking. "Her name is Meg. She and I met when I was walking around in the middle of nowhere earlier today. She hitched a ride before you arrived."

Her eyes closed briefly, as in consternation at him. "You don't think it's strange that a girl you met in the middle of nowhere just happens to show up at a tiny little nothing bar later?"

Sam shrugged, but felt a little foolish. Was it too much of a coincidence? "This is the only thing close to a city near where we were." That sounded a little thin but reasonable.

"Yes, and of all the gin joints in all the world, she just happened to walk into yours." Renee sighed as the light became green again, and they were off. "Listen, Sam. You're too smart to believe a coincidence is just a coincidence. Plus, you're a hunter. You didn't get any funny vibes there? Didn't make your spidey sense tingle, not even once?"

"Okay, you clearly know something I don't about the situation. Because I'm not seeing a reason to freak out, but you speeding like you've got the devil on your heels."

Renee snorted, a choking sound that was more ominous than funny. She then stuck a couple fingers in her cleavage, under her dress. Sam looked away, embarrassed to watch whatever it was she was doing. When he looked back, she was dragging a necklace off– the chain was so thin that he hadn't noticed it, and the pendant was hidden well under her dress. She dangled it in front of him, clearly intended for him to take it. He hesitated, but then held out his hand.

The heat of the pendant was unexpected. He hissed through his teeth and almost dropped it before he acclimated. "The hell…?" He wondered aloud.

"That necklace is like an EMF meter. I felt it warm up a little in the bar, and when your little friend passed me, I damn near dropped the drinks because it hurt so bad. Thankfully, it just gives your brain the impression of heat and pain instead of actually burning you." Renee looked over at him, probably trying to see if he was following her. "Meg is a demon, Sam. I don't know why she's taken a special interest in you, but she's obviously been following you since you split with Dean."

* * *

**a/n: well, it's still Monday… technically! To answer torigirl1996's query… when does Renee's presence begin to change the story? Right about now. But it's little ripples at first. Don't expect major canon divergences **_**yet**_**. Next chapter – checking out Renee's flat, casual knife-throwing, and more shenanigans. Believe it or not, I had chapter five written before chapter four. Chapter four is a necessary evil to get to the good stuff. Sigh.**


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